


You Can Call Me Monster

by Gement



Series: Batman: Millennials in Love [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Tags In Chapters, Bruce Wayne Gets Therapy, Consent Play, Established Relationship, Gotham City's One Non-Evil Psychiatrist, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Inadvisable Alternatives to Therapy, M/M, Many Kinks, Psychological Horror, Rape (not detailed), Scarecrow Fear Toxin, Shocking I know, Therapists Being Useful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22962589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement/pseuds/Gement
Summary: Batman has put years of effort into frightening people. When Scarecrow inevitably plays with that, it has unintended personal consequences. Everyone's going to need some extra aftercare on this one.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/OMC
Series: Batman: Millennials in Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636105
Comments: 52
Kudos: 56





	1. Locked In

**Author's Note:**

> If you are tuning in without context, Zach's long-term relationship with Bruce Wayne hit the tabloids two months ago. Bruce/B/Batman in Zach's narration communicates the flicker between suave-soft/private-neutral/growly-flat in Bruce's affect. Early-career, no Robins yet. Fits between chapters [← 40](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/54900508) and [41 →](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388384/chapters/55116811#workskin) of [Nay, I Can't Resist Thee](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388384), so I don't clutter up my fluffy-kinky-queer romance novel with a horror story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[[ Chapter content advisory: Horror. Includes imagined rape (not detailed) and blink-and-you-miss-it imagined character death. Lengthy detailed list and synopsis in endnotes. ]]]

Zach stared out the window on his way to work. On the bus, because he could still do that. He would not let B's increasing paranoia fence him in entirely. He could spend nights in town, and he could take the bus, and he could remember what people working minimum wage looked like. He was starting to forget the rhythms of how normal people moved through the world, and it made him nervous.

It wasn't like he would get more face time at the manor, anyway. With how late Batman had been working all week, he would have better luck with the safe house, if it could still be used as a safe house, which it couldn't. Between the Riddler and the fucking paparazzi, the apartment was burned for all but emergency medical visits forever. Bruce could drop by, but it was not the same.

The yellow-vested construction worker beside Zach pulled the bell and stood up, shifting his satchel. Several others stood up, too. There must be a construction site with a surprisingly late start time. Zach looked out the window to see if he could spot it.

"Phones locked and in the air!" one of them shouted. "First one we find sending an SOS gets a headshot! You know the drill, people." They had all pulled loose black mesh over their heads and produced rifles.

Well, shit.

Zach slowly pulled his phone from his pocket, hammering the home button a dozen or so times before he raised it. Six or more would set off a howler of an alarm on B's dash and activate the microphone, as would a few fallbacks like—

Two gunshots, deafening in the enclosed space. Zach hunched involuntarily. He hoped they were warning shots, but he couldn't make himself look yet. These fuckers still thought there was any way to stop signals getting out short of an EMP. Total amateur hour, but amateurs were dangerous.

"I _said_ , no SOS! Was that complicated?" Warning shots. At least four goons in the front half of the bus. One had replaced the driver, but the driver was alive and conscious, sitting on the floor. So was the teenager they'd caught with an active phone. A baby started shrieking, but they didn't yell at it, just let the parents shush it.

Maybe no one would die. Maybe he shouldn't jinx it by thinking things like that. From behind him, there was a yell and a scuffle. Someone had tried to rush a goon. The rifle crack wasn't as loud as it should have been. The attempted hero moaned and slurred down to nothing. Tranqs.

Yes, now he could see, all but a couple of handguns were tranq rifles. That was not amateur. That was "keep them all alive," which, while better than the alternative, did not bode entirely well. No identified leader yet. This smelled like big costume business.

He dropped his phone in the big bag of electronics. He emptied his pockets and surrendered his backpack. Did they think the bus itself didn't have GPS trackers built in?

His stomach was shaking, and his hands. He consciously unclenched his jaw and his fingers. He breathed slowly and counted his breaths. When he got to 100, he started at 1 again so losing count wouldn't stress him out further.

Panic was counterproductive. Fear was an autonomic response that could be managed and moderated. And when that hit its limits, lived with. Being shaky wouldn't kill him. At least he hadn't wet himself. The bus smelled strongly of other people who had.

The bus parked under the viaduct and they piled out, one by one. Zach silently accepted his pat-down, his seat on a fresh bus, and a handcuff to the bus railing. They didn't take the kids.

They actually shouted at the teenagers for their ages. Over 16 went on the bus. Under 16 were left standing by the prior bus, clutching other people's toddlers and diaper bags, parents calling frantic instructions. One pregnant woman was left with the kids.

Five people had to be carried on, tranquilized but unharmed. No fatalities, no funny business. No engagement when people asked questions or begged to leave. These were professionals.

No demands. No boss name. No uniforms but the face-concealing bug netting. They drove into one of the warehouse districts that stubbornly defied all attempts at control, a battleground for the syndicates, a red patch on Zach's risk assessment map.

B's security protocols might drive him up the wall sometimes, but he would really, really rather not be rolling towards the red patches of the map, chained into an unmarked bus with no photogenic children to whip up the media.

Disappearances. String of disappearances. Batman had been wound so tightly that it was clearly a struggle for him to let Zach out of the house at all because _people were disappearing off the fucking street and he couldn't find them._ Not by the busload, though. Even in Gotham City, that was worth a headline.

The bus pulled into a warehouse. Four people were taken off. Everyone else was left waiting in silence. A few people tried to talk, just to lighten the mood, and were tranqed for it. Zach tried to count seconds.

Ten minutes passed, maybe. Twenty. Zach had a tracker in each shoe and another in the waistband of his slacks. Batman owned a _helicopter_. Did they have some kind of jammers? Had they rigged the bus to be a Faraday cage? Damn, he'd lost count. Call it twenty-two minutes.

The guards returned and took four more people, including Zach. A guard uncuffed him and didn't restrain him further, just motioned him off the bus. None of the tranqed people had been taken yet. Were they left for later when they had woken up? Should he get himself knocked out to buy time?

No. Conscious meant seeing what was going on, watching for opportunity, reacting. And if they were going to— If it was bad, he could let it be bad on equal footing with the rest of them. He wouldn't send the seventeen-year-old sniffling in the next seat in his place.

Not even if it broke Batman.

Zach walked off the bus on shaking legs. Bruce had lost plenty of people. It would fuck him up, but everything fucked him up. He'd keep going. Zach was catastrophizing, all of this was catastrophizing, don't think about concentration camps, shut up, shut up, shut up.

Count breaths. Feel lungs expanding and contracting. Feel ground under feet. Hear footsteps echo. His eyes were dripping and he was getting really, really angry.

Through the next door was... a boring waiting room. Folding chairs, end tables with stacks of magazines, beige walls, water cooler. Two people in white coats came in through the other door. They had baggy burlap hoods over their heads, and they were carrying fucking clipboards in hands covered by cheap clawed Halloween gloves.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Tranq guns pointed at Zach. He closed his mouth.

"You first, then," said a warmly professional woman's voice from the Scarecrow hood. Shit. "Right this way, please. Do you have any allergies?"

Scarecrow only killed people by accidental overdose or self-harm. "Fuck you." He sat down on the floor and made them drag him, tangling himself up on as much furniture as possible. Bruising force on his arms was grounding and familiar, a challenge he understood.

In the next hallway, the woman who had spoken grabbed a straitjacket from a pile. Zach was on the floor and they did not have guns and he was already in as much trouble as he was going to get. He took her down with a leg lock. The man who had been holding him cursed and kicked him in the gut.

Shock and nausea rolled through him. Zach fought the straitjacket, then made himself dead weight again for the drag down the hallway to the next door.

Dark room, blinding spotlight. A thin, reedy tenor voice said, "Subject 41. Violent tendencies, physically and verbally abusive to staff. Excellent candidate for protocol three."

Shit, shit shit shit. He was face-to-spotlight with the boss, though, and B had said a couple of things. Scarecrow still maybe thought he was doing some kind of legitimate work.

"I opt out of this study. I do not consent to medical experimentation." He repeated it louder and louder, trying to drown out whatever bullshit science terror Scarecrow was listing off. He heard 'triple dose,' though.

A breathing mask was held over his face. He tried to hold his breath, but he was winded from pain and from shouting. Fear smelled sickly sweet. He hyperventilated, in case it worked like pot and he could waste some of the dose.

They dropped him on the floor and left him in the dark. An awful aftertaste of formaldehyde and fake banana flavor lingered in his mouth.

Deep breaths. The room lit up with a dim, indirect glow, backlighting larger than life silhouettes of Batman leaning out from all four walls, casting distorted shadows. Dim outlines of the logo all over the walls and ceiling. "Oh, hell no."

His whole body was shaking now. He scooted back towards the door and sat with his back to the wall under one of the standup silhouettes. Batman was his and Batman would come for him and Batman could be larger than life at his back.

The outlines started to twist and stretch. "Nothing I see is real, nothing I see is real, nothing I see is real."

The top half of the opposite wall was a shiny observation window. Goodie, a live audience. There was a _thump_ from that direction, then a sharp _CRACK_ of something large hitting the glass. The shine bowed out, then shivered back to flat.

A speaker clicked. "Scarecrow is down. Try to stay calm. Coming around with the antidote." Batman's voice was neutral and quiet, though strange growls warped in and out of it.

Zach's teeth chattered and he couldn't stop hyperventilating, so he just nodded and backed further against the standup, making the shadow of it wobble. He would be another nameless victim until they got home, and that was _fine_.

The door beside him opened, showing hallway light and the real silhouette, beautiful scalloped cape and heavy boots and matte cowl in three dimensions. Batman was twisting and monstering a little; the ears stood almost six inches long with a wicked curve. His eyes glowed, angular slashes of blinding white in a face that was nothing but a black hole in the world. That was a hallucination. Zach closed his eyes, but the image danced behind his eyelids.

He shied away when Batman leaned over him. The touch was right, though, which helped. A firm, smooth hand held his jaw to turn his head to the side and bare his neck for a pinprick injection.

Deep breaths. He tried to count them, but numbers were all scrambled in his head. "I knew you would find us," he said instead. "Thank you."

" _What did I say?_ " Monster voice was another hallucination. Batman didn't yell at victims.

"Whuh?"

"What did I say about playing hero? What was the rule about judo?"

"Not unless I really thought I could get away," Zach whispered.

"Mouthing off to villains? This is how you keep yourself safe? _Did you think about me at all?_ "

Zach nodded miserably. "I did, I, I just lost it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Not yet, you aren't." Batman kicked him hard enough to fling him into the corner. Zach curled up as best he could, trying to protect himself, but he was in a fucking straitjacket, so he couldn't even hide his head.

"Please. I'm sorry."

"Tell that to the six people who died because you couldn't follow directions. _Six people, Zach._ " Batman took an audible breath, controlling himself. "I should have known you couldn't take this seriously. I tried to trust you. I knew better."

"No. Please."

"There is no room in my life for second chances. You know that."

"Please." Even with his eyes closed, he could see Batman walk over to him from all angles like a hall of mirrors, ten feet tall of angry demon.

"I can't trust you." A rubber hand closed warm around his throat.

"You can, I swear. I'll do anything you want. Every rule. Anything."

"I wouldn't trust you with my pocket change. Which is all I've ever given you, by the way. It's pathetic how easily impressed you are by money."

"So don't. Just, don't. Please don't." He stared into Batman's nightmare blank of a face, searching for any human connection. "Please. Please, just..."

"Let you go?" Batman's bark of laughter echoed in the tiny room, as loud as a gunshot. "That'll go well." His hand tightened.

"You'll regret this. Please don't do something you can't live with. You don't kill people. Don't break that now."

Teeth gleamed in the dark, huge and mirthless as the Joker's grin. "You believed that? Adorable."

Zach closed his eyes. Getting choked out wouldn't hurt much, at least. In the ocean of raw terror, that was not helping as much as he wished it would. He tipped his head back against the wall and waited.

B leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I'll miss you," he said quietly. Zach cried as silently as he could, breath still heaving with panic. "But you haven't left me a lot of options."

"There are always options!" Zach screamed at him. "You just don't wanna see them!" He lunged into the grip on his neck.

"I'll miss this. The way you struggle for me. But what am I supposed to do, keep you in a cage in the cave?"

They both froze. The grin widened. "Could work. One of the side caves. I'll have to rig a food dispenser for when I'm busy. Restraints. You missed the exposition, you're Scarecrow's man now unless the antidote worked much better than it looks like. Am I still distorted?"

Zach nodded very slowly.

"It's permanent, then." B kissed his ear. "Terror on tap, every time you see me. Beautiful. Don't worry. I'll usually let you wear the hood."

Better than murder, it was better than murder, it bought time, they had time, he could—

"You should remind me why I'm keeping you around."

Zach screamed _stop, stop stop stop,_ over and over, but it only stopped when the police came and gunned B down, his weight collapsing warm and wet on Zach's back.

He begged to go back, to fix it, but it only rewound far enough to replay the worst parts and change who came in. Commissioner Gordon recognized him, knew he'd asked for it, and left Batman to kill him.

"This is a fun effect," B said cheerfully, nibbling on his ear. "Looks like we'll keep doing this forever. Bruce is watching you twitch in a padded room at Arkham right now. He's heartbroken, but he can't stop coming to see you. One of these days, you'll give him away and the whole asylum will break out and tear him to shreds. We could watch that. Or you could remind me again why I'm keeping you around."

* * *

Zach came back to reality in a rumbling ambulance, strapped to a gurney. Another man with a bloody face lay to his left, still unconscious.

"Batman," Zach said, or tried to. His throat was raw.

"Is nowhere near you," the young man sitting by his head said firmly. "You were dosed pretty bad, but we gave you the antidote thirty minutes ago and your vitals are good. Can you tell me your name?"

Zach mumbled through some basic orientation questions and ate an ice chip.

"Can you see or hear anything unusual right now?"

Zach paused, checking. "Your ID is on a Hello Kitty lanyard."

The EMT laughed. "Correct. You gonna give me crap for Hello Kitty, Mr. Rainbow Earrings?"

Zach smiled and relaxed a little. "Hell no."

"Can you see Batman or anything that reminds you of Batman right now?"

Anything that reminded him of Batman. Far too long a list. He swept his eyes around for the logo, the pointed ears, the sweep of cloak. "No."

"Great. Usually we ask about the pain scale—"

"Four. Throat and shoulders."

"Thank you. Today we need to know about your level of fear and anxiety, where zero is—"

"Six. I usually run at one or two, but I got shot at and experimented on, so this seems about right."

* * *

He spent another two hours at the hospital. He got a brain scan, gave away blood samples, ate a terrible sandwich, and reported to the police. He declined the offer of a sedative or an anxiolytic prescription.

No Bruce. He kept watching the door, flinching.

"Everything looks good," an orderly said, not looking up from her clipboard. "You've got your phone back? We may need to contact you later."

"Yeah." Zach sipped his juice box slowly. Oh hey, good idea. He sent a text.

  
**Zach:** I'm safe. Don't call or visit. Alfred would be okay.

  
"Zach?" The orderly waved at him. Right. She hadn't left yet.

"Hm? Sorry. Tired."

"There's a visitor in the waiting room for you. Alfred Pennyworth. We don't give out information without patient consent, but you are all done here as of now. If you're ready to go, he says he's here to give you a ride."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay." Zach followed her out to the waiting room, bracing himself. Alfred had only been in a few of the rapidly blurring horror stories. He'd shot Zach for blowing Bruce's identity, or just looked disapproving. It should be fine.

Maybe he should have accepted that prescription.

Alfred didn't set off any new terrors. They nodded at each other silently and got the hell out of there. The car of the day was a blobby cream-colored sedan, as unlike the Batmobile as possible while still being a car. That probably wasn't an accident. Zach dodged to the front door before Alfred could try to stuff him in the back.

"Apartment," he said as soon as the doors closed. "Take me to the apartment. Please."

"If you insist," Alfred said. He started the car. "He is understandably concerned for your state, as am I."

"Which is why I am going to the nice bugged apartment with the lockable shutters, instead of a hotel or possibly Florida."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"It was bad, okay?" Zach took a breath. "I just... Not yet."

"Of course. Thank you for staying within reach." They drove in silence for a few blocks. "I have had the misfortune to experience Dr. Crane's brand of chemistry twice. Neither was pleasant, but I can say that the effect fades faster than one might fear. By tomorrow, I hope you will find, as I did, that it is closest to an unpleasant dream."

"I hope so." This much, he should share. "Uh. One of the things that kept cropping up was that it was permanent. He was trying to make time bombs, or sleeper agents or henches or—" He stopped and breathed. "I don't know if that part's real. But maybe check."

Alfred nodded. "Thank you. He saw your message earlier. He inquired whether you would find a text acceptable."

"I'll think about it." Zach's stomach twisted. "He's listening right now."

"Yes," Alfred said. "You know you may ask him to stop."

Zach did not throw up. He breathed as steadily as he could manage. Another block went by.

"He has stopped monitoring the car and will consider you to be out of contact until you say otherwise."

"Thanks," Zach whispered. "He, uh. If he hasn't already. If there are recordings. He needs to make sure I didn't fuck up. Say anything. And he will really, really need to not be alone for that. Bully him if you have to. Special favor to me. He can wear headphones, you don't have to listen. Better if you don't listen. But be there."

"I will do my best. If the opportunity has passed, I'll use the favor to some similar purpose. He is, despite appearances, capable of admitting to human needs. When pressed."

Zach nodded and watched the city roll past.

* * *

He walked into his apartment and locked every lock, even the completely manual one that couldn't be unlocked from outside. After a breath, he unlocked that one again. Medical emergency. If he had a seizure or a relapse or something.

He walked around the apartment, touching everything, willing the world to be solid, looking out at a murky Gotham sunset. He turned on every light in the house to full blast.

He pulled the curtains. He hesitated over the lockdown button. He set the beacon to Do Not Disturb. _Then_ he dropped the shutters. He showered and changed into fresh clothes.

There was nothing perishable in the fridge. Chips would hurt his throat. Calories. Some source of calories.

He mixed himself a stiff glass of sedative with hot lemon and honey, which he sipped on the couch, staring at the empty armchair.

  
**Zach:** You should listen in long enough to make sure I don't have a relapse, and you should send a test text.  
**B:** This is a test text.

  
Zach stared at it with no reaction. No reaction at all. The church bell ringtone didn't set him off, though at some point in the morning it had started tolling in his ears nonstop.

"So far, so good."

  
**Zach:** Talking hurts. Stay on, though.  
**Zach:** You can reply to that.  
**B:** Thank you.  
**Zach:** Did you talk to Alfred yet?  
**B:** Yes.  
**Zach:** Did you listen yet?  
**B:** Not yet. I was putting it off already.  
**Zach:** I could listen instead, maybe. If it can wait.  
**Zach:** I hope you punched Scarecrow hard enough to put him in traction.  
**B:** We both know it can't wait. I'm sorry. But I destroyed all the files in his system. If anything slipped, it's hearsay-only.  
**B:** He'll live.

  
Zach stared at the phone for a while before typing.

  
**Zach:** For your sake, I'm glad.  
**Zach:** (But only for your sake.)  
**Zach:** How long is the recording of me?  
**B:** 16 minutes. Audio, video, vitals.  
**Zach:** What's the average?  
**B:** 10 minutes. Do you want more details?  
**Zach:** Yes. Data good.  
**B:** He recorded until people stopped reacting externally, then gave it a 3-minute margin.  
**B:** Lower dose groups were about 50/50 on coming out of it or getting locked into their own heads. The highest dose was 100% lock-ins. You got the highest dose.  
**B:** He flagged you for follow-up.  
**B:** You were an outlier, but not unique. Several reacted longer. Several others were flagged. I can't analyze the pattern until I watch the full set of observations.  
**B:** I'm not looking forward to that.  
**Zach:** How many total?  
**B:** 44.  
**Zach:** 3 past me?  
**B:** Yes.  
**B:** Your alarm saved lives. They dropped fear grenades downtown to mask the bus theft, and took other advanced precautions. I'm sorry I took so long.  
**Zach:** How many dead?  
**B:** 2, both lock-ins from earlier in the week.  
**Zach:** That's enough data.

  
He finished his drink and dug a forgotten container of ice cream out of the freezer.

  
**Zach:** Time to find out if I fucked over your life. Is Alfred handy?  
**B:** He can be. If you insist. I would prefer privacy.  
**Zach:** I would prefer a nice day at work today and a pony. Don't let him watch. I don't wish that on him.  
**Zach:** But you cannot watch this all alone in your creepy cave.  
**B:** I like my cave.

 **B:** Alfred is now watching over me like a mother hen. In my lovely cave.  
**Zach:** Go ahead.

  
Zach set a timer. He ate his ice cream. He wanted to pace or draw, maybe, but he was physically and mentally wrung out. When he finished his ice cream, he stared at the ceiling and waited.

  
**B:** Clear.  
**B:** No identifying information.  
**B:** Perception of familiarity, but similar complex narratives already occurred in the records reviewed so far, and in self-reporting.  
**B:** As did other features.  
**B:** I'm sorry. Take as long as you need.  
**Zach:** It wasn't you.  
**B:** Take as long as you need.

  
The timer went off, making Zach jump. Right. Extra margin. He cleared his throat.

  
**Zach:** How much sense was I making?  
**B:** Enough.

  
Great, so now they were both bleeding out emotionally. The phone tolled on his chest; he startled. He'd dropped it without noticing.

  
**B:** You will probably want to talk about some of this later.  
**Zach:** Probably.  
**B:** One thing stood out, at the beginning, when you were most coherent.  
**B:** You thought I would be angry that you resisted.  
**B:** We can settle that one right now.  
**B:** I'm not.  
**B:** Trying to short-circuit him with his academic training was clever.  
**B:** Other victims described your nonviolent protest tactics. Good choice. Every little bit buys time.  
**B:** Anything else... Are you familiar with "fog of war"?  
**Zach:** Vaguely?  
**B:** When adrenaline hits and information is limited, all bets are off. I don't know what you did. I don't know if I would have made the same tactical judgments. But it doesn't matter.  
**B:** You were in a survival situation. Did you try to survive?

  
It was really, really tempting to just say yes.

  
**Zach:** Mostly. I could have moved myself further back in the initial selection. It felt too shitty, so I didn't.  
**B:** Did you move yourself forward?  
**Zach:** The stunt in the waiting room did.  
**B:** Fog of war.  
**B:** You survived.  
**B:** Good job.

  
Zach started crying again, quiet hitching sobs. He was incredibly tired of crying.

  
**Zach:** Thank you.

  
He'd dropped his phone again. He picked it up.

  
**Zach:** What's your availability tomorrow?  
**B:** Whatever you need.  
**B:** Wayne Enterprises encourages all employees to take extra personal time to support their family, friends, and community after disasters or acts of villainy. I'll be setting a good example.  
**B:** You've dozed off at least four times now.  
**B:** I'm claiming a medical exemption to the ban on nagging you about bedtime.  
**Zach:** Fair. Keep me in your ear?  
**B:** Please switch the beacon to neutral. An entire screen flashes when the settings don't match.  
**Zach:** Ugh. You could have said.  
**B:** Go to bed, Zach.

* * *

Zach squared his shoulders and walked into the manor through the front doors. Alfred walked beside him along the miles and miles of corridors to the study.

Bruce sat in one of the velvet armchairs, his hands in his lap, not quite looking at the door. He apparently owned a pastel lavender turtleneck. On second thought, he probably hadn't yesterday. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises.

"Hi," Zach said. His voice rasped. He cleared his throat.

Bruce looked at him. No reaction. "Hi." No reaction.

"Nice sweater."

"Thanks." No reaction.

"A hug would be good."

He couldn't make himself move forward, but he stood his ground as Bruce got out of the chair and approached slowly. No reaction. He did manage to open his arms when they reached hugging distance.

Bruce enfolded him in warmth and gentle strength and the right smell. Zach relaxed. "Hallucinations don't smell right." He rolled the texture of the turtleneck between his fingers.

"I'll try to remember that."

"You didn't sleep."

"No."

"Let's try a nap."

* * *

Zach finished his silent circuit of the cave, returning to the line of dummies in armor. He splayed his hand out across one cowl, seeing how far his hand could reach. He'd touched practically everything in the cave. (Except batarangs, which took fingerprints well and were frequently abandoned around town. He declined the offer of wearing a gauntlet to hold one, ostensibly on the grounds that it would clash with his borrowed pastel turtleneck.)

That just left the real reason.

"I need you to show me the side caves. All of them."

"That's not actually possible," B said gently. "Some of them stretch for miles. I haven't completely mapped them."

That would make this awkward. "Then... Just as far as you would be willing to go on a regular basis. Without it being a hassle." He met B's puzzled look. "Maybe daily. To check on something."

B's face shifted to the haunted, solemn stare he had worn for most of the day. He nodded and grabbed a worklight from a gear drawer. He held out his hand. They walked together into the dark.

"Last one."

"Is this the most likely or least likely?"

"None of them are in any way likely."

Zach stopped walking and just waited at the tunnel mouth.

B looked at the floor. "Most likely."

Zach nodded and took his hand again. They toured the space, a dogleg tunnel a few paces back from an existing supply dump. It was indeed practical and convenient.

"With all the usual caveats," B said, "if I had a desperate short-term need to contain a living being... This would be where."

Zach breathed the air and measured the space with his eyes. He touched the clammy walls. Then he sat down on the floor, his back against the wall, and wrapped his arms around his knees. The chill sank through his jeans and sweater.

No reaction at all. He was dead calm, maybe the calmest and stillest he had been in his life.

B hesitated. "Where should I be?"

Zach shrugged.

"May I join you?"

"Yeah."

B sat down a shoulder-width away, matching his position. Zach kept watching the opposite wall, feeling the utter stillness. Their breaths hissed and echoed along the tunnel in both directions.

Finally, quietly, almost conversationally, he said, "You said you'd rig me a food dispenser."

They kept talking until Zach ran out of words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[[  
> Teleport back to top note ↑
> 
> Full content advisory: Scarecrow. Just, Scarecrow, man.
> 
>  _Actual event:_ Mass kidnapping, guns, brief child endangerment, Holocaust prisoner transport echoes, forced medical experimentation, drugging.  
>  _Hallucination:_ sexual assault (cutaway, not detailed), major character death, abusive shouting, intimate partner violence, death threats, choking, ignoring safewords, imprisonment, institutionalization.  
>  _Aftermath:_ constant (unfulfilled) fear of flashbacks, extensive discussion of the event, appropriate medical care in an ambulance and hospital.
> 
> Scarecrow, man.
> 
> Synopsis:  
> Scarecrow builds a room full of Batman imagery and kidnaps a busload of experimental subjects to put in it, including Zach, who has a frightening hostage experience and a horrific looping nightmare about Batman.
> 
> If you want to skip straight to the aftercare/debrief (the entire second half, wow, that got long), text search for "ambulance."
> 
> After outpatient medical care, Zach spends the evening feeling secure in his apartment and texting with B. In the closing scenes, he sees Bruce in person and it's okay. They visit parts of the cave that featured in his nightmare, and he starts talking about his experience.  
> ]]]
> 
> Teleport back to top note ↑
> 
> [← Chapter 40](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/54900508) | [NICRT](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388384) | [Chapter 41 →](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388384/chapters/55116811)


	2. Exposure Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[[ Chapter content advisory: Consent edgeplay (100% consensual), Explicit smut. Details and synopsis in endnote. ]]]

"You wanted me to tell you," Bruce said, "when I wanted you." He'd sat back on the couch a little, reaching for his water glass and only touching Zach leg-to-leg. That kind of distance wasn't accidental.

Zach swapped out which box of Chinese take-out he was eating from, carefully setting his prior choice on the tasteful matte black tray protecting the inlaid mosaic of the hardwood coffee table. Even eating on the couch was a production number at the manor. "Yeah?"

"I want you." Bruce sounded casual and friendly, but his expression was closed and smooth, almost blank.

"Good start." Zach took another bite, slurping the noodles so he would have to lick sauce off his face. Bruce watched his tongue. "Feel free to elaborate."

"I... am not proud of this." Solid blank.

"Talking isn't doing." Zach put his hand on Bruce's, palm to palm. "I'm in a good place." They'd already fucked twice since the fear gas, with Bruce treating him like spun glass and playing 'stop and go' until Zach could safeword without a twitch. He could have gone for rougher the second time, but Bruce had his own trauma and a history of putting up with sex he wasn't into, so they were going with more explicit consent than usual.

"I keep hearing the recording of you. Screaming. My response is inappropriate." His jaw worked. His voice had dropped to brusque and clipped. "I've been hearing it all day. I could see. In how you moved. I know exactly what I was doing to you. And... I'm jealous."

Zach smiled. "Fake-you pissed in your territory?"

Batman's expression somehow went even blanker, his mouth tight. "You are not territory."

"I, uh, appreciate how clear you are about that," Zach said, keeping his face as straight as possible, "and desire still isn't rational, and you wouldn't have to be so clear about it if you weren't territorial as fuck."

B looked away. His hand twitched under Zach's, flat and open. "Well. Desire expressed."

Zach dug blunt fingernails into B's palm. "Desire tentatively reciprocated." No reaction. "If I were up for it, what would you actually enjoy doing about it?"

"Throw you around. Hold you down in the dark and fuck you as hard as you can take. Leave enough bruises to make you skip work. Get that scream out of you at least once. You don't have to do any of this. I feel filthy just saying it."

"It's okay. Really." He slid his hand further, offering his wrist to be grabbed. B wrapped excessively gentle fingers around the bones of his arm. There was a particular way he touched when he was thinking about anatomy and how to break it; it was hot as hell. "I am interested in your proposal and have a counteroffer."

That got Bruce to look at him, a twitch of eyebrow and a hint of a smile. "I'm listening."

"If we do this. If we go there. I want no quarter. Take me down, fuck me up, do what you actually want and do not apologize for it. Right up to the wall. And..." He resisted his own urge to look away. "I want you to choke me out. No fooling, lights out, naptime, out. Will you do that?"

B nodded silently, a portrait of self-control.

"If we do this right... You'll need to check in. I might not be together enough to remember how to stop you. I accept that risk. We might fuck this up and I might freak out. I accept that risk too." He leaned forward and waited until B met him for a tantalizing, delicate kiss, barely touching lips. "I've been itching for this, but I thought it would freak you out."

B frowned. "You were supposed to tell me what you wanted, too."

"Yes. I broke our agreement because I was afraid you'd pity-fuck me and hurt yourself. I'm sorry. You can spank me for it if you want."

A heavy hand gripped the nape of his neck. "I'm going to do a lot more than spank you."

"Mmmm."

"You should go wash up."

"Yeah. Uh, suggestion. We don't do this in either bedroom, in case we fuck up. And a hard no on doing it in the cave."

"A very hard no on that. I had a place in mind."

* * *

Zach stepped out of his bedroom's en suite bath, freshly showered and pleasantly nervous. All the lights went out, dark as a power outage. Faint evening gloom trickled in around the edges of drawn curtains.

He had half a breath to register this before he was dragged down, arms wrenched behind him and knees rug burned. In the next gasp, his cheek hit the floor. He heard a rip of duct tape, but barely felt it around his wrists, too many other minor shocks competing for his attention. He hadn't managed to make a sound yet.

Smooth rubber fingers trailed down his back. The cape tickled at his calves and feet. When Batman bit the back of his neck, the hard edge of the cowl dug against his skull. No quarter. Zach felt the eerie calm descend on him, the detachment he'd felt every time he'd faced the hallucination. He would burn it out.

He took the bruising bite in silence, silence, silence, " _Ah!_ " Usually Batman would let up at that point, satisfied that he could force a sound. Not this time. Zach whimpered and struggled, trying not to rug burn his dick. He'd be using the good concealer on his neck for days.

Batman rolled him to his side, letting him see the cowl loom over him, white lenses blazing. Zach flinched back. Batman lunged in and bit his lower lip, hard enough to make him jerk dangerously. A gauntlet lingered on his throat, teasing at the pulse points, then pressed against the new throbbing bruise on his lip.

"This is not a request," Batman said. "I just want you to know that if it weren't a terrible idea..." He traced a shape around Zach's lips and cheeks. "I'd tape your mouth. Take your safeword."

Zach shuddered, gut-deep. "Do it."

Batman froze.

"I said, do it."

"Zach. It is a terrible idea."

"It won't be all night. I'd suffocate pretty quick."

Batman laughed under his breath. "Not all night, no." He kept tracing the phantom rectangle. "Just long enough to know I could. Make you feel it. No way to stop me. Whatever I want."

Rationally, there were a hundred ways to tap out or signal real distress. Viscerally? Zach shuddered again. "Take away my mouth, or I go full smart-ass and don't stop until I'm screaming."

Batman touched a pressure point under his arm that made him howl, mouth open helplessly. With the other hand, he got him into a headlock, forcing his jaw closed. A stripe of tape yanked across his mouth, pulled taut against his skin. Zach sucked a breath through his nose. There, finally, real fear cut through the calm.

"Happy now?"

Zach slumped into the grip on his head. He nodded a little. No way out. He stayed down when Batman released him to the floor. He watched silently as the hood descended over his eyes and cheeks, lay still as the copy of the cowl tightened around his scalp and ears and jaw. They'd never used it for this before. They'd never used it for more than protecting Batman's secrets. It locked around his neck.

"Check in."

He nodded sharply.

"Good." Batman hauled him up over one shoulder and headed down the hall. Upside down in the dark, Zach's head spun. They walked for a long time, far too long to track, probably twice as long as it actually took to reach wherever the fuck they were going. Occasional pauses to open doors told him nothing. They went both up and down stairs. Zach twisted, trying to get his head higher, trying to find a comfortable spot for his crotch as it jounced on Batman's shoulder. Batman ignored him.

Eventually, after yet another door, Zach was dumped onto a bed. Crisp sheet, soft mattress. He rolled to his belly. The hood came off, but he was still in the dark. Batman placed one soft kiss on his cheek. The movement didn't register to his eyes at all, just flashes of neon, noise on the optic nerves.

Batman cut the tape from his wrists, then cuffed his arms in front of him. The cuffs felt heavy, maybe leather-lined metal. They hugged Zach's wrists perfectly, a couple inches wide. He pondered the lead time on custom fetish cuffs as Batman moved him around on the bed. Chain rattled until another lock clicked, then went silent.

The white eyes faded into view, just a faint glow giving him something to focus on. Batman kissed the tape, right where his lip still throbbed, in a parody of tenderness. He wormed in between Zach's bound arms.

He wasn't wearing the suit. Cowl, cape, gauntlets, boots, and nothing in between. He rubbed his body against Zach's, skin to skin all the way. The mismatch was a first; it felt dirty, too intimate. The cape wrapped around them like a blanket.

Zach could have moved, could have responded when Batman groped him, gloves everywhere, tugging at his muscles and slipping down his back to spread his thighs. He just took it.

Batman bit his earlobe. "Check in."

He nodded a little.

Batman paused. "I am counting on you," he said quietly, "to check in accurately."

Zach pulled back to face him, eyes open in the shapeless dark. His wrists had plenty of slack to reach the cowl; he flicked it hard, once. "Mm." He let his head and arms sag again.

"Thank you." Batman rolled onto him, hard cock grinding against his hip, then bit his shoulder until he screamed. Zach focused on enough calm to keep from crying. The second his nose clogged up, the tape would come off. He didn't want to give it up yet.

He clenched his teeth when Batman started nibbling along his ribs. It didn't hurt, it just tickled and was incredibly irritating. He tried bashing at the cowl with his elbow, but didn't quite have the angle.

"That's better." Batman forced a knee between Zach's legs and followed it with a slicked gauntlet. He kept up the ticklish rib nonsense until Zach got used to it and stopped kicking. Then he pinched instead, pinches and nasty little nips at Zach's skin to keep him fighting while greedy fingers stretched his ass open.

"Hm. These weren't really designed for fine facial expressions. Lights four."

Blinding white light. Zach instinctively shielded his face with both arms. Batman dragged them out of the way and held him by the jaw, face to the light. Zach kept his eyes scrunched tightly closed. He groaned, gasping through his nose, as the stretching shifted into an intense fingerfuck. Batman planted his weight over one of Zach's legs so the jerking struggle would rub his cock.

"Eyes open."

Zach tried briefly, then flinched them closed again. A hard thrust and curl of the fingers in his ass made him grunt in shock.

"Eyes open when I fuck you. Or I make it worse."

He managed to squint. A single point of light on the ceiling burned into his retinas. Batman was the only darker shape; looking at him was a little better.

Batman leaned in to kiss his taped mouth again. The shadow was a relief; Zach moaned and put his free leg around Batman's hip to keep him there.

"Yeah?"

Zach nodded as best he could with the hand holding his jaw. He tilted his face up to offer it for another kiss. Batman bit his goddamn eyebrow and punched him in the prostate. While Zach thrashed, he slid his hand down to squeeze Zach's throat.

"I've switched a lot of people off, long enough to contain them. I've never let myself enjoy it. I've never done it with them wrapped around my cock. You'll be the first."

The fear rolled through him again, a deep shiver. He snuffled another breath. Batman ripped the tape off his mouth. The tape was good; it didn't sting as much as it could have. He relaxed a little, his eyes drifting closed.

Batman slapped his cheek, a light tap. "Check in."

"Good," Zach gasped. "I'm good. I'll be good." He hadn't meant to say that last part.

Batman grinned at him, barely visible in the contrasting dark and bright. "Not in question. I'm not giving you a choice there. Options. No choice." He twitched his fingers, making Zach grunt again. "If you just take it, stay where you're put and don't fight unless I make you fight, that's good. If you try to keep me happy, do the things you know I like..." He ground his crotch against Zach's leg. "That's good too."

He stroked his fingers across Zach's nipples, getting another shudder. "If you kick and bite and try to stop me no matter how gently I touch you, that's downright generous." He dropped his weight onto Zach's chest, hard enough to make breathing a struggle. He breathed in his ear. "And if you stop me, that's brave. I love it when you're brave."

Zach sobbed deep in his throat.

"Options. No choice. I _will_ enjoy this."

He fought for air, his ribs aching. Batman made it hurt again, made him fight. Zach brought his arms down and used the chain to push him away by the throat. Batman grabbed it easily and forced it down, hands trapped by Zach's ears and hard metal links pressing painfully against his Adam's apple. Zach scrabbled at the armored wrist.

"You aren't setting foot off this bed until I've finished. I don't need the cuffs to enforce that. They're a little inconvenient. But I like what they do to you. They don't let you forget." Batman pulled out and shoved three lube-slicked fingers into Zach's mouth.

There wasn't a taste, or even much smell. Like the cuffs, it was just a symbol. Zach shut his eyes and took it. He choked, fought, bit. Batman held him down by the hair and kissed his eyelids, still ramming his mouth. Eventually, Zach stopped choking.

Batman moved on him gently. "Beautiful. Check in." His fingers were still down Zach's throat. Zach nodded. Batman withdrew his fingers, trailing spit across his cheek.

"Ankle," Zach whispered.

"Hm?" Batman paused. Zach didn't repeat it, just waited. "Of course. That would be more practical. Long-term." He scrubbed his hand on Zach's hair and left the bed.

Zach wiped the tears from his eyes and ducked his head out of the spotlight. He could see jack shit. Black sheet on the broad mattress. Either black walls and ceiling or his eyes were too shocked to see the difference. He couldn't even tell the size of the room. The black bedframe seemed normal enough, but Zach would bet it had attachment points every inch and could survive being run over by a truck. The cuffs on his wrists were black leather and black metal. No fucking Batlogo for once.

"Lights full."

Nasty pinpoint spotlights blasted Zach from every angle. He was looking right at one. "Fuck." He covered his eyes and curled up. He made Batman drag him to cuff his ankle to the headboard.

After the brief clumsiness of three limbs chained to the same point, Batman freed his wrists and flipped him around to lay him out with his head at the other end. Zach just lay there, an arm over his eyes, feeling echoes of things that never happened in the band of calfskin weighing down his ankle.

"Much more practical. Lights five."

Zach snuck a look. Just the one spotlight, centered on his head's new location. Batman didn't force him to look at it yet. "You did not rig this in the last week," he said.

"No." Batman ran smooth hands down his body and dug teeth into one of his glutes. It was almost cozy.

"You always keep a goth torture chamber, or is this just for me?"

"You." A harder bite, too hard to talk through. "No one else was twisted enough to justify the effort."

"How long?" Zach managed to ask before the next bite on his thigh got ugly noises out of him. The sound should have echoed. It didn't.

"I chose it along with your bedroom."

 _This is completely fucked up,_ Zach did not say. _The Fifty Shades series is not a good template for billionaire behavior,_ he also did not say. Anything he said here could cut too deep. He was busy with pain in any case. Batman pinned him belly-down and started working on his feet with cruel fingertips.

"You'll never find this room without my help. You aren't invited to take a tour with the lights on. It's mine. I built it to hold you, but it's my turf. Not yours. Not shared. All you need to know is that sending Alfred into town was an unnecessary precaution. He could never hear you from here."

Lots of people who weren't even billionaires had home dungeons, Zach had been in many of them, track lighting wasn't that hard, neither was black paint, this gesture was sedate by Bruce's standards, under other circumstances it would have been fine, probably even hot. None of this helped the fact that Bruce had custom-designed a soundproof torture closet for him and then kept it secret for over a year waiting to fuck him in it. Until now, of all times.

No quarter. No pulling punches on what he wanted. B was trusting Zach with the creepy torture closet.

Zach was sincerely, sickeningly frightened.

He started crying, not the pain crying that was just chemistry, low heaving gulps. Batman lay down on Zach's back, legs between his legs, gloves squeezing his wrists, and bit the bruise on the back of his neck. Zach shuddered.

"Right where I want you," B murmured in his ear. Zach struggled, kicking his legs and jerking his arms. B settled his weight more firmly and sighed, content. Another bite on the shoulder muscle, again in the same damn spot. "This is nice."

"F-fuck you."

"I'll take that as a check-in. Lights full." Batman bit a methodical line of pain down the left side of Zach's spine, then the left side of his ribcage starting at his armpit, then the right. One slow horrible bruise after another, asymmetric for so long that Zach was grateful when he switched sides. Then his ass. Zach screamed his throat sore, thrashing and trying to escape the next inevitable bite. Keeping his eyes closed didn't help much against the lights, and he was too busy struggling to cover his face or hide it in the mattress.

Flipped to his back to get the inner thighs, dragged further along the bed so the ankle cuff was at full extension, keeping that leg spread open. All the bites on his back burned at the pressure. Zach tried and failed to do the thigh neck-breaking trick; he just managed to push the bite harder into his flesh. He could barely breathe for crying.

Batman covered him again, weight on every bruise, sweeping a corner of the cape over both their heads. The escape from the light was enough of a relief that Zach tucked his face into Batman's shoulder and whimpered.

"That's right," B said softly. "I've got you."

Zach screamed directly into his ear. B laughed under his breath. He pulled Zach up to straddle his lap, forcing his face into the light again and controlling his arms. The bruises made him acutely aware of his position. B's erection rubbed up slick against the crook of his thigh.

"Now that you're warmed up..." Oh, fuck. The weight of both gauntlets slammed into his back.

A blur of pain later, Batman lowered him back to the mattress. He cooperated, his whole body limp, completely and blessedly loopy with endorphins and exhaustion. "Check in."

"Mm."

"Try that again."

Zach squeezed his eyes to momentarily clear them of tears. Lights still too bright. His body shook. He couldn't think.

"I said," Batman growled in his ear, "check in. It wasn't a request." He put a warning hand on the bruised shoulder.

"You're mean," Zach mumbled.

"Yes." The hand lightened, barely brushing his shoulder, his throat, his cheek, his eyelids.

"R'lly good at fucking me up."

"Yes." B's other hand stroked his thigh, rubbed his balls.

"'S dedication. Built all this, super fuckin' scary."

"Your point?" B dug the heel of his hand against Zach's crotch, deep and sore, making him whimper.

"I mean it's art." He tried to organize his thoughts through the haze. "Like, performance art. Not just this place." Zach squirmed as B's fingers tightened and twisted, tugging on him hard enough to make talking difficult. "Make it look easy, everything you do, boom, scary as shit."

" _You think I don't know that?_ " Batman brought his gauntlet down on Zach's balls, hard enough to turn his stomach. "This is what I've _built_. In a recent survey of Gotham residents, thirty-six percent are afraid I'm a potential rapist. One thinks I want to keep him in a cage and wring his neck. And I can't tell them they're wrong."

Jesus, that baggage was way out of his weight class. Zach stayed curled up, agonizingly alert, waiting for his limbs to unfold and hoping that was it for the crotch shots.

The mattress shifted, went quiet, shifted again. Batman tapped his chin with something cold and hard to get his attention. Zach snuck a peek, then kept staring, unable to look away.

A shock stick. A fucking shock stick, _hopefully_ with the taser end tampered down to a play-acceptable level that wouldn't paralyze him. Definitely the kind with electrified sides.

Zach wasn't a hardcore fan of electricity, but B hated it. He wouldn't go near it. The crackle sound alone put a stop to their violet wand experiment after five seconds. Probably a villain thing; he didn't explain and Zach didn't pry.

"Ask for it."

The calm returned, but back in its proper place, his to control. "No." He pushed himself up to sitting with shaky arms. "Take it or don't."

Batman stroked the smooth metal of the baton down Zach's arm. "Ask."

"No. You did not spend months outfitting this room to hear me ask for it. I consent. You are not a rapist. If you're done playing, switch me off and put away your toys. Or do what you fucking came here to do."

"Ask, or safeword. Those are your options."

"Fuck you."

"Curse me again and I gag you."

"Fuck. You."

Batman slapped his face, snapping his head to the side, then tapped him in the solar plexus. While Zach heaved futilely for air, Batman jammed something into his mouth. Soft rubber, shaped like a bite guard. Something held down his tongue. This was much more complicated than a facefuck gag.

He grabbed his mouth with both hands, prying at the gag as if getting it off would let him breathe. Batman didn't stop him; it was already strapped tight around his head and he wouldn't get anywhere.

He finally managed sips of air, each gasp accompanied by an involuntary animal whine. A strap pressed across his tongue, and a flat plate, not quite deep enough to make him gag but enough to flatten his tongue no matter how he flexed it. The bite guard held his mouth open wide enough for fingers, not cock, and it fit smoothly along the curves of his jaws.

Wrist measurements were one thing, but a mouth print? Had Batman hacked his dental records for a sex toy? What the fuck.

He got a fuller gasp. Batman settled down on the bed beside him, put gentle arms around him, and nuzzled down his chest to suck his nipple. Zach screamed.

"You had options," Batman said. Zach tried to kick him; Batman used the movement to trap his knee against his chest. His other ankle yanked against its cuff. Batman brushed the baton past his balls and Zach went silent with terror. The contacts pressed against his instep. "Anything to say?"

Zach whimpered. Batman pushed the button.

Foot cramps while being stabbed with a hot knife sucked. Definitely worse than calf cramps. Not quite as bad as that fucking muscle in the back of his shoulder under the goddamn bruise jesus christ. Grabbing at the baton and feeling like he'd set his hands on fire was a different and confusing category.

He resorted to desperate placating gestures. He wrapped his arms around Batman's chest, tucked his head in, and hung on. After he held still through a few more zaps and some burning smacks on his ass, Batman relented.

"Ready to behave?"

He nodded frantically. The hum of the shock stick went silent and Batman set it aside. Zach made a grateful little noise and moved his hand on Batman's ribs.

"Lights two. Show me." B's grip relaxed and he leaned back.

Lights two was a soft diffuse glow on the bed. Zach moved down to B's waist. His arms twitched and shook. B had lost his hard-on; Zach rubbed his cheek across B's crotch, letting him feel the gag strap and the drool soaking Zach's face. He used both hands to pet and stroke, ranging all over.

"What do you think of the gag?" B slipped two gloved fingers into Zach's mouth to tease the edges of his trapped tongue.

Zach made a noncommittal noise. He kept petting. B's cock perked up.

"I put some thought into that one. I knew you would need it. Sometimes you just can't stop mouthing off. You'd rather drown in your own snot than admit you're beaten. Stubborn." He rubbed his other hand across Zach's back, which would have been comforting except for the carpet of hickeys. "Which is usually great. But sometimes..." He pressed on the plate until Zach choked. "I just want to fuck you. Nice and simple."

 _Yes, simple is definitely the word I would use for this scenario,_ Zach couldn't say.

"This is more humane than any other options I thought of, if I want to shut you up and don't feel like beating you. And I know how much you love having something in your mouth."

Zach's hand steadied as he started jerking B off, using his spit to keep things moving. He rubbed his face against B's abs.

The shock stick lay on the bed, handle in reach. Some animal part of his brain, which didn't understand context and only knew it had been tortured, looked at the stick and wondered, if he moved fast enough...

"Not a good idea." B petted his hair. "I really am done hurting you. You don't want to change my mind." He didn't move the stick.

Zach bowed his head. He crawled over B's legs to the other side, right next to the baton but with his back to it. He ran his hands along B's legs from the hips to the tops of the boots, scratching his nails through wiry hair. He rubbed his nose against B's balls and made a soft encouraging noise. B's cock jumped with interest. "Yeah?"

"Nn-hn." Zach rubbed and tugged and drooled. He panted hot breath on B's cock.

"Hmm. Better play it safe for a while. The sooner I give your mouth back, the longer you have to get yourself in trouble again. I want to make this easy for you." B held Zach's throat. "Nice and smooth. Nothing to fight. No complications." His voice was low and soothing, almost hypnotic. "I'll make it good."

 _What impeccable dungeon manners. Such a gentleman._ Zach grudgingly admitted to himself that staying gagged was the smart option. He nosed at B's crotch anyway, just for fun.

B let him keep at it, but started undressing himself, kicking off his boots before removing the cowl. He draped the cape around Zach's shoulders; Zach clutched it for reassurance. The gauntlets stayed on.

B left the bed for a few seconds, taking the stick with him. The light was mellow enough that Zach could see him, a pale ghost of a shape against the dark. He only went a couple of paces and returned with big pillows. He piled them against the headboard by the ankle chain.

"There. That should do it." He knelt over Zach and kissed the gag, flicking his tongue against Zach's exposed lips and tongue. He reached behind the headboard for a water bottle. "Here."

He didn't hand over the water, just picked Zach up to nearly sitting and tipped some into his mouth a little at a time so he didn't choke. The sense of helplessness was not subtle; it sank into his bones and weighed down his arms so he didn't try to grab for the water or turn away, no matter how much he resented it.

B patiently dripped most of a pint into him before stopping and rubbing some lube on his lips to keep them from drying out. Zach was not consulted. B piled him up against the pillows and Zach stayed where he was put.

B smiled. "I knew you could get the hang of it." He ruffled Zach's hair. Zach glared, but didn't move. B spread Zach's legs and fingerfucked him again, slowly with lots of stretching. He touched Zach's lips, as if the growing ache in his jaw weren't enough of a reminder that he couldn't close his mouth.

"I'll have your complete attention when I knock you out," he said quietly. "No distractions, no resistance, nothing left but my hand around your throat. Just relax. I've got this."

He worked Zach's cock with a skillful grip until it was hard enough for a condom, then started sucking him, fingers still deep and wide in his ass. Zach groaned.

It was a slow, attentive blowjob, mindful of the fact that it would take a while with Zach's weight on his buttocks and back, both of which were bruised all to hell. It was nothing like the pillow princess treatment, though. It was in no way respectful. It was the most _selfish_ sucking off Zach had ever gotten. B watched him for reactions, not approval, dragging him into a deep shuddering orgasm.

Zach came in B's mouth, grunting and then whimpering as B sucked him through the aftershocks. His whole body shook with pain, exhaustion, relief. He sighed and relaxed further into the pillows when B pulled out and slid an internal condom into him.

"There." B stripped off his gauntlets and unbuckled the gag, massaging Zach's jaw. "That looks about right. Do you need anything?"

Zach thought about it. He worked his jaw. "Water, please. And cape. Cape feels good."

B smiled. "You got it." He fastened the cape around Zach; it hung loosely at his neck and pooled around his shoulders, cool and silky. B poured the rest of the water into Zach's mouth. Being able to use his tongue felt like incredible freedom.

B held out his hands and Zach took them; he let himself be guided around, shuffling on his knees, until they had more or less swapped places. B leaned into the pillows and Zach awkwardly straddled his legs.

His knees burned. His inner thighs and ass throbbed everywhere they touched B, and his leg muscles twitched and jerked, still clumsy from electrocution. Everything ached. His ankle chain didn't have much slack. _No distractions, my bruised ass._

A few shuffling inches forward and B pulled his hips down, settling him to sit on B's cock, smooth and easy. "Mmm." B closed his eyes for a moment in pleasure. "Perfect." He put his hand up against Zach's cheek on the side with the slap bruise. "You're perfect. Right where you belong."

Zach made himself relax. He focused on his twitching muscles letting go, leaned into the bruises and the deep pressure, let the whispered hug of the cape soothe him. He kept his eyes open, per earlier instructions.

"That's right. Ready?" B moved his hand to encircle Zach's throat, barely touching.

Zach's eyes stung. He had thought he was all cried out. He put one hand around B's to match and the other braced against B's ribs, holding a handful of cape. "Yeah."

B brought his knees up, giving Zach somewhere to lean and taking most of the balance work away. It also shifted the angle of B's cock even deeper; Zach grunted. B started thrusting.

Very little friction, just deep movement as B lifted him over and over, squeezing his neck in little pulses and slow waves, always shifting, never letting him forget what was coming. An occasional tighter grip made Zach's hand falter and his eyes roll back; B sped up after those.

"Hey. How're you doing?" Bruce asked, light and easy, as if he weren't pistoning his hips to bounce Zach up and down. As if he weren't leaving fingerprint pressure marks on either side of Zach's neck.

Zach took a second to answer. "I'm scared," he said. He kept his hand on Bruce's to make it clear that was acceptable. "You killed me, just like this."

Bruce's hips bucked hard. "Just like this?"

"Ngh. Mix and match, but yeah. Usually, ah, you were on me."

Bruce nodded. His skin was flushed, his hair damp with sweat. "Thought about it. Want to feel when you go slack. Hold you up on me."

"Yeah." He leaned into Bruce's hand and took it silently. He was exactly where he belonged.

B worked it for a while, slowly, methodically, touching Zach's body with his free hand. _Mine, mine, mine,_ the touch said. "You look exhausted. I'll let you rest soon."

Zach blinked at him. He really was tired. "I'm not afraid," he realized out loud. He groaned as B bounced him hard, speeding up. "You've got me."

"I've got you," B repeated back. He tightened his grip so Zach couldn't say any more, graying in and out a little. They both gasped for air, for different reasons. "Got you. Got you."

Zach's hand fell to his side. He noticed it distantly, dreamlike. His head pounded. B loosened his grip and Zach's mind cleared.

"Lights out," B said.

The room lights did not respond. B squeezed slowly enough for Zach to be sure of that before his eyes rolled back and everything faded to black.

* * *

"Hnnh?" He woke in Bruce's bedroom, swaddled in the cape like a blanket burrito.

"Hey." Bruce petted his hair. "How are you doing?"

Zach tried to focus. "Good."

"Good. You'll want these."

In the light of the bedside lamp, Zach saw Bruce was holding a couple of ibuprofen. He waited a second before he remembered that they were back in something like reality and Bruce wouldn't just shove them down his throat. He worked his arms free from the cape and took them, along with a gulp of water from the bottle Bruce handed him. "Thanks." He reached for Bruce's hand. "How long was I out?"

"About twenty minutes, but most of that was just a nap. You're beautiful."

"Thank you." Zach smiled. "You're a really sick fuck. We should do that again sometime."

Bruce's answering smile was almost shy. "I'd like that." He rested his hand on an unbruised patch of shoulder. "I need to go soon. I'm sorry."

Zach nodded. "Duty calls. Don't let 'em burn down the city."

"That's the idea." Bruce leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet. "Sleep well."

"Mm-hm." Zach had fallen asleep by the time Bruce switched off the lamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[[  
> Teleport back to top note ↑
> 
> Chapter content advisory: Two recently-traumatized adrenaline junkies and consent edgeplay, what could go wrong! 100% consensual, but they play extremely hard without a net here. Features include playing without access to an official safeword, playing in ways that Zach fears and actively despises, imprisonment, interrogation lighting, gags, electricity, brief ass-to-mouth, behavioral control, icky hurt/comfort, asphyxia to blacking out.
> 
> Synopsis: They address their issues from the prior chapter (Locked In) via sex and violence until they feel better. Bruce reveals his soundproofed Zach-specific dungeon.  
> ]]]
> 
> Disclaimer: There is no guaranteed nonlethal way to choke someone out (cut off oxygen to the brain), and the risk increases if pushed to blackout. Even the safest techniques always have a small but non-zero chance of death unless you are a comic book hero with a code against killing. (See also knocking people out via concussion, which is far worse.) Many people including the author enjoy heavy breathplay, but you are emphatically advised to do your reading and check in with experienced people as minimum diligence before taking recreational risks with your or anyone else's life.


	3. Actual Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[[ Chapter content advisory: Mentions of: trauma, child endangerment, sexual assault, suicide. One character has persistent delusions.]]]

Leah closed her laptop and rubbed her eyes. She had another two hours of scheduling and paperwork ahead, but her phone alarm informed her it was dinner time, so off to the vending machine.

Six pm wasn't a ghost town in this building, which was nice. Several therapists took appointments as late as 7, so when she left at 8, they would still— Her office door was open.

For confidentiality reasons, she had trained herself to always, always close it when she walked out, but it stood the polite six inches open that she used to tell people they could come in with questions. The office was dark. She had not turned off the lights.

She stood by the door, one hand on her phone's 911 button, ready to throw the chips and Slim Jims if necessary. "Hello?"

No sound, but motion against the streetlights through the window. Familiar profile, searing adrenaline response. Her patients' anxiety was rubbing off on her. She stayed in the hallway. "What are you doing here."

"Hoping to talk, Dr. Michnik," Batman said. His voice was low and abrupt. He bit off the words at the ends. "Privately."

She didn't move. Neither did he. Eventually she sighed and walked in, closing the door behind her. "As long as you don't mind my eating dinner at the same time."

"Of course." He stepped away from her desk to make room for her.

"You mind the lights on?"

"The desk lamp's fine." He walked to the far corner of the room.

Leah sat down and did routine things with her hands until she felt better. She took a vindictive bite of Slim Jim. "Okay. Let's talk."

"You're managing the Scarebat cases."

"Yes," she said. Did he want patient records? Had he already taken patient records? She wouldn't leap to conclusions, but prepared to be furious if necessary.

"I had a prior connection to one of the victims."

"No one said anything to me."

"They wouldn't have. But I reached out to them. To see if I could help. And they found it helpful. To see me. To confirm that I wasn't the nightmare."

Yes, fury seemed appropriate here. "Stay away from my patients."

"I didn't harass your patients. I reached out to an existing contact. Now I'm speaking to you."

She ate a chip slowly. "Okay."

"If you judge that some of the victims could benefit from a meeting, we could arrange something. They choose the place, the mode. It might just be a phone call. If you think it could help."

She thought about it, chewing. "I am concerned," she said, "that you might not be as reassuring as you think, if you can't even stop looming from a shadow long enough to have this conversation."

He nodded, flicked the switch for the ceiling fluorescents, and sat down in her guest chair. No hesitation, no expression on what she could see of his face. He watched her through the eye-holes of his molded plastic helmet, prosaic in the light.

 _How did that feel?_ she itched to say, or, _Was that difficult for you?_ She didn't. He wasn't a patient. He was a bundle of defense mechanisms in a black cloak, offering, or possibly asking for, a deeply weird favor.

"All right," she said. "How do you see this working?"

They talked through the logistics and concerns. She finished the first bag of chips and stared glumly at the second.

"Would you like a food bar? Easier on the blood sugar."

She paused. "Are you judging what I eat?"

"Speaking from experience. I know a little about working late and skipping meals."

Maybe it was fatigue, but the deadpan delivery got her. She grinned. He smiled back, tight-lipped but probably genuine.

"Sure, I'll try one."

It wasn't good. But it wasn't bad. It just... wasn't. The taste was so preemptively boring that it wouldn't be possible to get bored of it. Not too sweet, and it had decent chew.

"Thanks," she said with a mouthful of bar. "You live on these?"

"Sometimes."

"They taste... nutritionally complete."

"Yes." He smiled again.

She weighed her next words carefully. "You're a busy person."

"As are you. Sorry for the extra work."

"Extra work for you as well, and you're opening yourself up to risks, letting other people tell you where and when to meet." She talked through another bite of bar. "Why are you doing this?"

"He used my face," Batman said. His voice dropped to a steady, menacing growl. "He used the image I have spent years constructing. To hurt the people I built it to protect." His jaw worked. He shook his head. "Fear is a double-edged sword. He hurt them with a tool I created. I'll help any way I can."

* * *

Ten out of 42. Ten out of 42 had accepted therapy at all, had stayed for more than one visit, had seemed like they had a legitimate need and chance of benefit, had accepted Dr. Michnik's offer, had followed through on scheduling. It was a narrow funnel, which unfortunately included only two of the cases most likely be an ongoing danger to themselves or to him. But he would do what he could.

Bruce had no idea what to expect. If Zach could be considered a data point at all, he was the definition of an outlier. He tapped on the office door.

"Come in," a man's voice said, sharp with nerves.

Bruce let himself in and stood still where Jared Wilson could see him. His therapist sat in the corner, unobtrusive.

Jared's face tightened, then he laughed once. "Okay, uh. I appreciate the effort, but... I thought you meant real Batman. Not mall Santa Batman."

This... was good. This was the point. Bruce sat down in the third chair, his back to the wall. "Yes. I'm the real one."

"Uh-huh."

No directive statements. Suggestions only. "You want to be sure? You could turn out that light."

The therapist looked at him in sharp warning. Right. Absolutely no looming unless suggested by the patient.

"You'll probably find it less disturbing if you keep watching me." Bruce waited. Letting them see how the trick worked was unpleasant. Letting Jared keep jumping at every shadow was worse.

Jared walked to the light switch. He kept his eyes on Bruce most of the way, but turned to find the switch. On muscle memory, Bruce took the half-breath to move to the corner of the room. Not breathing over Jared's shoulder, actually increasing his distance, but standing. Possibly looming. Damn.

"I'm the real one."

Jared gasped, staring at him.

"It only works in the dark. Would you like that light back on?"

Jared flipped the switch again, not looking away this time. Bruce moved back to his chair just as quickly and silently, acutely aware of the eyes on him.

"Breathing," the therapist said quietly. Jared nodded and took slow, metered breaths. Probably a counting technique.

"Sorry," Jared said. "I didn't mean to say that..." He gestured vaguely.

"That I look like a guy in a cheap Halloween costume?" Bruce made himself grin. It felt strange, under the cowl. "I do. It only works in the dark."

* * *

"Can I, um. Is it permissible to touch you?" Yousef Khouri asked. Bruce waited for the therapist to repeat it in English. Even if he wanted to advertise his Arabic comprehension, his accent wasn't up to standard.

"Yes." Bruce pulled off one gauntlet and held out his right hand slowly, palm up. Yousef touched cautiously, then gripped with both wrinkled hands, shaking.

Bruce held still. "I'm just a man," he said.

* * *

Bruce waited three minutes after the confirmation text, then knocked on Maria Alvarez's apartment door. This one was dicey. Meeting unaccompanied was not what Michnik preferred, but Alvarez had insisted she wanted it to be at her home, and nothing past dusk but before midnight fit into her work schedule.

She let him in. He bowed his head a little to reduce the height difference. "Should I sit?"

"Yes. Please sit." She pointed to the couch. "One moment, please." She disappeared into her bedroom.

After a moment, she returned with Julio Alvarez, age two, who had been on the bus. He lolled in her arms, completely asleep.

Maria watched Bruce. "You will not hurt my son."

"I will not," Bruce said. He switched to Spanish. "He's safe with me. I'll never hurt any child."

She walked over to the couch. Bruce held still. "Take him."

Oh. Bruce opened his arms and she handed over Julio's heavy sleeping body. He gathered him in carefully. He couldn't easily recall the last time Batman had interacted with a child outside of an emergency. He stared down at the drooling little face.

"You will keep him safe," Maria said. It was not a request.

"Yes. I will." The second bedroom door opened a crack. Bruce nodded toward it. "Would you like to invite your daughter in as well?"

Maria pursed her lips. "Liv, are you out of bed?" The door slammed shut. She shook her head, but didn't take her eyes off of Bruce and her son. "Liv, come out right now."

Olivia Alvarez, age seven, inched out. She wore flannel pajamas covered in cartoon mice. She stared at Batman with huge eyes.

"Liv, Batman is our guest. He's here to keep us safe."

"Did Scarecrow come back?" Liv whispered in English. "Is he coming here?"

"No," Bruce said. "I locked him up. This is just a visit to make sure you're okay."

"Because you scared Mom."

"Yes."

She nodded. "We had a lot of bad dreams. Like really, really, really, really, really, really bad."

"I'm sorry. I have bad dreams, too."

"Have you tried making up a better story? If you draw a picture, it can stick better, and, and, and then you can have that dream instead. My better dream was, was you ate Scarecrow's head instead of Julio. You wanna see?"

Maria put a hand over her mouth.

Bruce smiled. "Yes, please."

He studied the drawing. His cape covered half the page, and there was probably half a red crayon worth of blood. "Can I take a picture of your drawing? I know someone else who would like that dream."

* * *

Odessa Chance's file was made of red flags. History of trauma and schizophrenia, not always well-managed. Protocol-3 victim, locked in for more than 24 hours. Longer initial episode than Zach's.

She'd immediately chosen to meet, with a long list of stipulations. Both her long-time therapist and Dr. Michnik present, in a room with longer sight lines into the hallway than Bruce was comfortable with. The other red flag case had been almost as cautious, though, and had reached a long, tearful breakthrough with him in the room. It was worth the discomfort.

Bruce waited, seated, watching the hall. The three of them approached him, then both of her escorts sat down. Odessa stayed in the doorway, not closing the door. "Well?"

Bruce tilted his head. "Yes?"

"I'm waiting," Odessa said.

Bruce glanced to Dr. Michnik, who said, "What are you waiting for, Odessa?"

"An apology," she said. "If you're not ready to apologize, there's nothing to say."

Odessa's therapist said, "What would you like him to apologize for?"

"For his grooming operation with Scarecrow."

"Okay. That's not—"

"No. You don't talk. He talks. They say you weren't there, fine, what the fuck ever. That doesn't change what it felt like. That doesn't change who planned it. You apologize, or we're done here."

Bruce tuned out his nausea to focus on the problem. "I believe you felt it," he said. "I wish I could have prevented that. For that failure, I'm sorry."

She bunched her fists.

"I did not plan it. I didn't know until ten minutes before I stopped it. I have never cooperated with Scarecrow in any way."

"You are a lying sack of shit."

There was no way to leave his chair without increasing his apparent threat. He looked to Dr. Michnik.

"Would you like him to leave?"

"Fuck it, if you're all taking his side, _I'll_ leave." Odessa turned and ran down the hall.

"She left her things in my office, which is locked," the therapist said. "I'll see if I can get her to keep her next appointment." She followed.

Dr. Michnik winced. "We really thought she'd let that one go, first session," she said under her breath.

Bruce nodded. "Better to know, at least. I hope someone can help her through it. Is there anything I can do, other than go?"

"No. Thanks." Dr. Michnik formally turned her back on him. Bruce saw himself out.

* * *

Seventeen-year-old Tara Whitebear studied him for a long time. They stared at each other from opposite chairs. He deliberately blinked every few seconds. She did not.

"The Scarecrow-you," she eventually said, "the vision-you in my head. He did some real fucked-up shit."

"I believe you," he said.

* * *

Bruce met Dr. Michnik back at her office.

"Well," she said. "That's a wrap."

"If there's anyone else. Or you have other concerns. You can still text."

"Thanks. Oh, Odessa stayed in therapy. Switched practices, at least temporarily, but she's still seeing someone. I thought you should know."

"Thank you. I'm glad." For a nerve-wracking hour, he had thought Odessa Chance might book with one of Hugo Strange's recruiters that he hadn't found enough evidence to shut down yet. A convenient phone and internet outage, including the loss of 24 hours of voicemail, let someone else call her back first. Strange couldn't have this one.

"I know they say there's no correlation between thematic birth names and millennialism, but..." She shook her head. "I worry about her. That's all."

"Me too. We do what we can."

"Yeah. We do what we can. And we've done a lot here, with your help. Thanks." She rubbed her eyes, then blinked at him, surprised to find him still there. "Something else?"

"Possibly. I wondered if we could talk."

"Sure. What about?"

Bruce had free-climbed sheer cliffs, leaped into burning buildings, and deliberately hallucinated his own death. He could finish a sentence. "In your professional capacity."

"Ah. Right now?"

"If that's acceptable. Scheduling is... difficult. Sorry."

She nodded. "Give me one second." She pulled out her phone and made a call. "Hey. I'll be another hour. I'm sorry."

"Surprise, surprise," Bruce could hear. The rest was an irritated mumble.

"I know. Another one of Scarecrow's victims came out of the woodwork. They need to talk, now, and I'm on call. Yes. We'll talk about it later. I love you." She hung up.

"I apologize."

"It's okay. Once. I meant every word of that. He harmed you, too. Are you comfortable in this room?"

"Yes." He hadn't swept the other offices for bugs as comprehensively, and the physical separation of the desk was reassuring. "I'm afraid I'm not up for a full intake history."

She laughed. "I figured. What's on your mind?"

Bruce's mind blanked, going into the disciplines he'd learned to dodge psychic tampering. He sat for several breaths, trying to un-clear his head. Damn. He was wasting time.

Scarecrow. Start with Scarecrow. "He couldn't have used me if I hadn't made something terrible for him to use. If I hadn't already made myself the city's nightmare."

She nodded, a neutral little motion that was acknowledgement, not necessarily agreement. She probably thought that was a distortion. Maybe it was. Maybe he was focusing on her reactions to avoid introspection. He could do this.

"I... don't know if there was another way. Another mask I could have chosen. Some weapon other than fear. But it was the only shape that seemed to fit." Classic millennial psychology, compulsions around a theme. Harmful expressions could sometimes be redirected, but the core theme, almost never. "I know that's... to be expected. I know what I am."

"What are you?"

He had spent far, far too long thinking about this.

"I'm a sadist who runs around in black fetishwear, spying on people and beating them down with my fists," he said. "I feel safest when everyone else in the room is afraid of me, and I seek out situations where I can justify that as necessary. I still never feel truly safe."

She nodded again.

"I violate the Geneva Conventions at least once a week. I encourage the police to accept evidence obtained by coercion and burglary. I try to convince myself I'm doing it for the right reasons. And I try to convince myself that self-awareness of the problem allows me to handle it more safely. And I just possibly overthink things."

She smiled. "Just possibly."

"I allow the ends to justify the means. There are limits to that. Some means are never acceptable, at any cost. I hold to that. But I don't know if I've set the right limits. I don't know if my rules are enough. I don't know if any ends can be enough. I don't know if I can do enough. I don't know."

He regulated his breathing. He waited for more words. There was more he'd meant to say.

Dr. Michnik said, "How's your support network?"

"In what sense?"

"Are there people who know you as a person? And know what you do?"

"Yes. A few. Enough, I hope."

"Do you trust them to tell you if you're crossing a line?"

"Yes. I trust them to be blunt. They're not afraid of me. If that changes, there are safeguards." Every one of his confidants had Clark on speed dial. If that wasn't enough... It had to be enough.

"Good. I'm glad you've put thought into that. Self-awareness does make a difference." She paused. "Do you get physical contact that's not violent?"

"Yes. From humans, even. I'm not touch-starved." He knew some of the other questions on this list. "I eat enough. I have to. Doing the work on a blood sugar crash would be suicide. I try not to do that." He tried a smile. She didn't smile back.

"I don't have suicidal ideation. I don't intend to self-destruct. One of the ways I stay alive is the absolute certainty that I will choose to do so, and that choice will be effective. It's not a fantasy of invincibility; it's policy. I will come home alive."

"That's good."

"I don't sleep enough. Even if my schedule allowed it, I don't. I try not to work angry. It can't always be avoided. I hit Scarecrow harder than necessary. I'm aware that's not acceptable." The sharp _crack_ of Crane hitting the wall echoed in his head again, superimposed with Zach screaming. He focused on the room, his hands in his gauntlets, the solidity of the chair.

"No. Understandable, though."

Bruce half-laughed. "A depressing number of things in this world are _understandable_. More so, the longer I do the work. The abyss gazes back." He studied his gauntlets. "I have safeguards."

When he had sat quietly for too long again, which was around thirty seconds, she took a breath to prompt him. He wasn't ready to be led, so he shifted in his chair. Yes, that bought him a longer pause.

"Maria Alvarez handed me her toddler," he said. "That's the first time I've ever been given a child while I was in the suit. To hold. Not to carry out of a disaster area."

"How did that feel?"

"Daunting. Sacred. It's an immense weight, that kind of trust." He felt he should clarify. "That's not a negative."

"Would you like to feel that more often?"

"I... Yes. But it's not compatible. Terror of the night, scourge of the underworld, big softie who visits children's hospitals."

"Some people in your profession seem to find a balance."

 _Some people in my profession seem to think a pair of glasses is a complete secret identity._ "Different methods. And anywhere I show interest becomes a target for the people who just want my attention."

She nodded.

"I accepted this. When I chose the bat. I won't be trusted. I'm not supposed to be trusted. I'm supposed to be there when absolutely necessary, and then gone. If I'm there, something has already gone wrong." He struggled to find something to add to that. "You should go ahead and ask a leading question."

Her eyes crinkled with humor. "Okay. When's the last time you checked on the belief that you're not trusted?"

He sat with it. "They shouldn't."

"An awful lot of us do. Do you think I would have let you within a mile of my patients without trust?"

"I'm... reliable. I can be relied on. And consistent, unfortunately. Keeping threats guessing would be much easier if I weren't so tediously punctual about saving lives. Trust is different."

"And incompatible."

"Yes."

"You said, earlier, that you feel safest when others are afraid of you."

"Yes."

"If you think back to situations where others have trusted you, how does that stack up?"

 _Touché._ He sat silently for over two minutes. She didn't interrupt.

"It is, unfortunately, not compatible with the work," he finally said.

"We don't have to have every aspect of our lives in every moment," she said carefully. "If you interact, in other contexts, socially. Could you see how it feels to build trust there?"

 _Lots of people trust me,_ he would have said. But to whatever extent that was true, he always considered it a weakness, a failure of his façade. Bruce Wayne had not been constructed as any more trustworthy than Batman, and substantially less reliable. Trust was risk.

Trust was always risk.

Apparently he didn't need therapy, he needed a greeting card inspirational thought.

He sighed. "Do you have any _easy_ questions?"

They kept talking.

"That's an hour," he said.

Dr. Michnik looked at the clock. "Yeah. This is good stuff, though, if you need to keep going."

"I've already imposed. Put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Do as I say, not as I do. And in case you're ever in a relevant situation, it's the only viable strategy against physical systemic threats like hypoxia. For those of us who are going to get home alive."

"That's good to know." She watched him. "Would you like to schedule something? I respect that I'd need to be flexible."

"Thank you, but no." She looked like she expected more. He supposed she'd earned that. "You would be a target for coercion. If you were suborned, it would... I don't think you'd find the security requirements acceptable."

"Such as?"

This was not an interrogation. He didn't have to answer. He also didn't have to resist questioning, and the only reservation was fear of what she would think of him. "A member of my support network has made it clear that, whatever I justify in my work, surveillance in my personal connections should only be by consent. I would need a great deal of that consent."

"I see." Her expression shuttered closed. She would never trust him again, not really. That was fair. "No, I'm not up for that. Uh. Is this building bugged?"

"It won't be by morning. I promise. And I didn't find anyone else's tech."

"I... suppose that's reassuring."

"We do what we can. I guarantee that, as of tomorrow morning, I will stop interacting with this building or with you, unless you text me or there's another incident. That's what I can do."

"Thank you. And thanks for reaching out. I appreciate that this was difficult for you."

"Thanks for listening." He stood up. "Good night, Dr. Michnik."

"Good night." She closed her eyes. Bruce left to start on bug removal.

* * *

Leah dragged into the office the next morning, an hour further underslept than usual and irritated with Aaron, who was irritated with her, which, ugh. Just, ugh.

Coffee. Coffee would help. No. Drop bag in office first, so more hands for coffee. She unlocked the door to her hopefully bug-free office. It bumped against something, a _shuffff_ sound on the floor.

What the hell.

She dropped her bag, turned on the overhead lights, and bent down to look. A thick manila envelope lay on the floor with her name printed on it. The lump inside was about the right size for a large phone.

She opened it. She read the six word note. She walked calmly to the kitchen. "Val, is the Wayne Foundation matching still going?"

"Yeah. One more week on the fund drive. You got a donor?"

She squeezed the envelope. The two banded stacks of bills still felt solid. "I've got a twenty grand cash donation in my hand. So... I'm going to drink some coffee, and then we're going to drive to the bank."

"Uh. Good call. I'll get coverage for the desk." Val handed her a mug.

Back in her office, Leah went to sit down. Her chair moved too heavily. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell.

A completely unmarked brown cardboard box, about a foot square, sat on her chair. She stayed standing to drink her coffee, watching the box. It did nothing at her.

When she'd emptied the mug, she slit the box open. Plain silver foil packets in neat rows. She counted the rows and columns while she waited for the caffeine to kick in. 144 packets of nutritionally complete tedium.

She stuck two in her bag, grabbed her car keys, and headed for the bank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hopped in for the horror story and consent edgeplay, I hope it stood up without context. (And if you liked Zach, well, there's [a lot more of him available](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388384). *eyebrow waggle*)
> 
> If you are a long-time reader, remember a new work is a new chance to leave Kudos! 😉
> 
> [← Chapter 40](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/54900508) | [NICRT](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388384) | [Chapter 41 →](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388384/chapters/55116811)


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